Collateral Damage
by partout coton
Summary: The story focuses on various children of Balkove Abbey who suffered because of Boris' ambitions, and were collateral damage on one man's way to power. Finding friendship, love and support among one another, though, they don't give up hope ... (Full summary inside)
1. Chapter 1

**COLLATERAL DAMAGE **

**Summary: **Beyblading is known as a joyful sport for kids all over the world. For the children of Balkove Abbey, though, it has become the sole purpose of their existence, and they endure harsh training in order to become the best. It is Boris Balkove's dream to gain power and esteem through these boys and girls, and he manipulates and abuses them in whatever way he thinks necessary.

The Demolition Boys along with numerous other boys and girls are collateral damage on Boris' way to success. Taylor Campbell, for instance, who almost considers Boris her father after her mother's untimely death, almost breaks while trying to live up to the man's expectations. She even dedicates her life to destroy her family as it suits Boris' plans. But inside and outside Balkove Abbey, there are people who love and care for her, and who try everything to save Taylor from Boris and herself.

* * *

**Part I  
**

_Swans mate for life. _Taylor liked the idea – always had, ever since her father had told her about it. Two creatures meet and stay together till death does them apart. Wasn't that what everyone was searching for?

_Swans mate for life_. Closing her eyes, she wrapped her fingers around the bitchip in her palm, and as she concentrated on her breathing, calmness seeped into her, filling her up from her nose and mouth down to her ribcage and stomach as she soaked in the air.

People left. They died. They walked away on you. They chose to go behind your back and betray you. As she remembered the course of her life, the faces of so many people came up. People who had done just that, and she had stayed behind broken and shaking, with a feeling of being inadequate and having nothing under control.

The boy she had considered to be her best friend, her sidekick. Her runaway father. Her dead mother.

But swans mate for life, she thought, and smiled. Aurora, the Swan. Aurora, her bitbeast. Aurora was still there. The mystical creature had looked into the girl's soul within the fracture of a second, and understood … Understood the pain, the loneliness, the craving for something Taylor couldn't name. The bitbeast had stood by her side all these years, had comforted her every night, and fought for her every day.

"We'll be together for life," she said in a whisper – as if she made a vow of love to a spouse. "We'll be together forever." It was the only – the last – thing she believed in.

* * *

"_Tyson wins! Tyson wins!_"

The words rang in Taylor's ears sharply, making her head ache, and at the same time, they didn't reach her. She didn't understand what was going on. Tala turned around from the arena, and looked straight at her. His face was blank. She still didn't comprehend.

"Tyson wins," the annotator repeated, the crowd cheered. All these noises made her feel as if her skull was about to burst.

"Tyson wins?", Ian whispered. "How can that be?"

The next thing she remembered were her legs pumping beneath her as she ran through the hallways of the stadium – the cheering, the celebration, everything seemed to chase after her. The empty look on Tala's face, Ian's voice right next to her ear. And Tyson. His plump little body jumping up and down in excitement, his joy, his … Everything!

What had minutes before been the adrenaline rushing through her body made her now feel sick on her stomach. She brushed her hair out of her face as she stopped at a corner, and pressed her eyelids shut.

"I could have done it," she whispered, "I could have beat him! It should have been me, not Tala. I could have done it."

"Taylor?" asked a calm, frigid voice behind her.

She turned around and screamed: "IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN ME! I COULD HAVE …"

"Keep yourself together!" Boris' hands shot forward, and he grabbed her harshly around her wrists and shook her once.

"Why didn't you choose me?" she asked through clenched teeth. Even though he was hurting her, that wasn't the reason her eyes burned and watered, she knew. "I wouldn't have lost, and you know it!"

"Taylor, we already talked about it." The man remained calm. "Because of that, see: You would have let your emotions get the better of you. Just like you're doing now."

"No!" She starred at the collar of Boris' shirt and the button border of his coat until everything became blurry in front of her eyes. "No! I would have destroyed him! He deserved it – they all do! I'm … I'm … It's everything I've ever wanted, and you know it! You wanted it too, we worked together on this … So why … This can't be happening!"

"Hush you, little one." He drew her closer and wrapped his arms around her as she leaned her head against his chest. "Hush you now, Taylor. Things are the way they are, and there is a lot of work in front of us, it seems, starting tonight. We can't let that defeat destroy our entire life, can we?"

She sobbed and cried out once. The softness in his voice undid a little of the pain, though. It made her feel more vulnerable, but also stronger when he talked to her like that, and though she realized how childish it was, she wanted more of it.

"Taylor, I really can't have you behave like that now. As you can certainly understand, there are other things I have to take care of." His voice sounded stern again, and he eventually let go of her. "I'll call a driver to get you home right away."

"No." She rubbed her eyes and fought for composure. "I'm fine. I want to talk to Tala."

"No, Taylor."

"But …"

"Taylor," he said sharply and knitted his brow, "Don't you dare disobeying me, especially not now."

She surrendered and nodded. Boris called one of his men on the cell phone and ordered him to come and get the young teenaged girl immediately. He didn't even let her go back to the arena, but made her wait outside for his driver to get her.

On the ride back to the abbey, she felt sick. Tala had had every advantage: She knew how hard he trained each day (almost as hard as she did). They were all raised for this – lived and breathed for nothing else than beyblading.

Tyson was weak. He lacked discipline. He was whiney, and soft. Boris hadn't been able to harden him, while Taylor and Tala and all the others had blossomed under the man's supervision and care. It was not logical! The training they endured day after day … It had destroyed and almost killed Tyson. So how could that battle – years later – turn out this way? With Tyson as the winner and world champion!

The city lights of Moscow rushed past her, and she starred out of the window, remembering how she had seen that scenery for the first time as a small child. She had been amazed by how cold a place could be. It had always been sunny in her Californian hometown, and seeing snow and frost and ice was like landing on a whole new planet, or a remote niche of the world she had known.

Now, she was used to all of this. Since she had moved to the Abbey, she had barely been in town, but she realized she didn't miss anything either. Her world was small, but fulfilling. At least, it had been before tonight. She had had an aim, a purpose. A dream. And every support she could have hoped for.

Boris' man escorted her to her room, where she found a glass of water and a white pill waiting for her on her nightstand. Boris had probably called ahead, and told one of the supervisors to get her something to calm down. Under the suspicious eyes of the driver, she took it.

"Good girl." He nodded and left her alone, much to the girl's relief.

Boris was her guardian. He had taken care of her ever since her mother's death, and even before. He had almost been like a father to her when her own had walked away from his family. He meant well, wanted her not to worry … But Taylor didn't fully agree with him on how he handled the situation.

He should have chosen her to battle Tyson in the first place, and now, he shouldn't exclude her and drug her up. Yet she trusted him.

She lay down on her bed – still fully dressed – and put her beyblade onto her stomach. The bitchip sat enthroned in the middle, and Taylor smiled softly while it was harder for her to keep her eyelids open. She watched her blade going up and down to the rhythm of her breathing.

_"Swans mate for life,_" she whispered to herself, "Don't we, Aurora?" Then, she fell asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Balkove Abbey, Moscow  
Two weeks before the World Championship**

* * *

"You had it coming, Nya, didn't you?" Boris closed his eyes and slowly shook his head from side to side with a deep sigh.

The girl he had addressed kept her gaze trained at his hands. She closely studied the ash grey skin speckled with brown dots, and realized that the watery blue veins meandering over it reminded her of glass noodles. She balled her own hands into fists and pressed her nails into her palms so firmly that later, after the ordeal, she would find half-moon shaped marks there. She needed it, though, to keep the frequency of her breathing down. Already did she feel out of breath – like in previous times, when someone had chased her all the way down the canal street.

Now, though, running away was no longer an option, even if she could have managed to slip past the man and get out of the door by the sheer luck of having the element of surprise on her side … _No_, she scolded herself_. Don't think about it, don't you dare_!

"Pretty little Nya," Boris muttered and suddenly moved towards her. Her left leg twitched. Instinctively, she wanted to take a step back, but within the fracture of a second, she was composed enough again and stood stiff as a pillar of salt. She knew better than that – better than to show fear and anxiety. The only way to get through this with the tiniest sparkle of pride was to stay unmoved and obey in a stoic, silent way.

"Pretty little Nya," the man repeated once more and took her chin in between his thumb and index finger to lift her face. The trick was to concentrate on the space between his eyebrows, or stare at the root of his nose, but never directly into his tiny, grey eyes. It was part of the interrogation technique of the secret service, her father had claimed years ago. She wasn't certain he really had known about such things or if he had only made it up as a story to entertain her (which was far more likely), but it worked nonetheless.

_Pretty little Nya_ … It was the teasing a junior instructor had once used for her, and the other children had adopted the phrase willingly in order to annoy her. When Boris used it, though, it triggered a very different range of emotions in her mind. Boris sounded as if he wanted to crush her by blowing her into dust with the words …

"Turn", he said and smacked her languidly with the back of his hand.

She did as she was told while a tensed murmur wandered through the rows of her peers. They had gathered at the wall behind her, and now, as she turned around, she searched for Vanessa's face among them. The other girl had already been waiting to meet her friends' gaze, and now bit her bottom lip as their eyes interlocked.

The first hit with the cane knocked the air out of her lungs, and she silently yelped. The sound, though, broke off abruptly with the second hit, and she managed to stay quiet throughout number three to eight by grinding her teeth first and – in between four and five – biting into the inner side of her cheeks. She tasted blood when Boris reached number nine, and at the same time, she opened her mouth to shriek. A high-pitched cry escaped her throat. Her back was burning, and the pain intensified with each blow. The feeling crept up and down her spine and eventually made her eyes water.

"Twelve", Boris eventually proclaimed, and stopped.

Nya felt her legs give way beneath her, and she landed hard on her knees and palms. Sweaty strains of black hair fell into her face like a curtain. She was grateful for it. That way, she saw less of her surroundings and of the gleeful or – worse – pitying looks her mates certainly shot her now.

"You did have to it coming, kid." Janosh, her favourite junior instructor, knelt down beside her.

Carefully, she turned her head to check if Boris was still there, but – just as she had expected – he was off already to instill terror somewhere else. "You know", she said slowly, and the left corner of her mouth wandered up into a half-smile, "It's puberty. Ranging hormones and all that jazz. And that's just Boris …"

"Get yourself in order, Nya", he said sternly and smacked her lightly on the back of her head as the two got up.

The tension which had been holding back the other children broke just as she stood erect again, and as the first of her peers moved, the others followed and went back to their training, starting whispered conversations while some watched Nya out of the corners of their eyes. Vanessa shot her a quick smile, and Nya returned it.

As she made her way across the hall, a new burn shot up her back with each step, and she held her upper body as stiff as possible, shifting her weight onto the muscles of her thighs and hips to find a little relief. She already knew that kind of pain, and breathed as flatly as she could without having to feel dizzy from lack of oxygen. She knew she must have looked awkward as she moved and walked, but she didn't care. They all had been in her place before, and there was no reason to pretend.

The hallways were empty, and she slowed down her pace – another way to decrease the agony. Could have been worse, she told herself, could have been the whip. Boris had one that resembled a very flexible piece of barbed wire fence, which also happened to be his favourite. The boy he had last used it on had almost developed blood poisoning from his festering wounds, not to mention the weeks he had only been able to sleep on his stomach.

"Must have been quite a flocking," a dry voice interrupted her trail of thoughts. Spencer was standing beside the stairs, arms hanging loosely at his sides.

She made her way past him without saying a word. People often thought Spencer to be slow-minded because of the dragging, monotone, and sometimes strangely emphasised way he spoke. That's because he used to stutter, Bryan had told Nya once, and they hit him for it, so now he struggles to speak fluently. Over the years, she had found Spencer to be of a kind, friendly nature, and though he indeed wasn't the brightest crayon in the box (as Nya's father would have put it), he was often seeing obvious things others tended to overlook when stressed. Also, he meant what he said, and if he didn't have anything to say, he remained silent and listened. That was something she deeply respected him for.

Now, though, he annoyed her – just because everyone annoyed her.

"What'da get it for?" he asked.

"Stole cigarettes," she mumbled, "Sneaked out after lights-out. The usual."

"Smoking is a bad habit", Spencer repeated the lecture from their health textbook.

Nya stopped and rolled her eyes. "Yes, so is every other fun thing, it seems."

"Nya?"

She looked up the stairs, and spotted Bryan standing at the top, blade in hand. He had his mouth slightly opened, and quickly looked past her in an attempt not to appear ashamed, as he sometimes was when he ran into her unexpectedly.

"Spencer, are you done training for tonight?" Bryan lifted his blade. "I'm searching for a partner, you know, Tala has to do some homework …"

"Sorry," Spencer replied and shrugged. "My turn to look after the youngsters."

"Nya?" Slowly, he dared turning his attention back to her.

"You'll have to excuse me," she said, "I'm indisposed."

"Oh."

Did his pale cheeks turn a rosy pink, or was it just the light?

"Had to make another down payment for my running wild," she explained, and continued climbing up the stairs by always taking one step at a time.

"I'm sorry," said Bryan.

"No need to. Everyone agrees that _pretty little Nya_ had it coming."

"I still have some of the pain killers from my broken ankle. You can have them if you want to," he offered.

"Thanks, that's nice, but … Well, you'll probably need them for yourself soon enough. I'll be fine."

He reached out his hand as she was laboriously going up the last step, but she ignored it and he didn't dare touching her without further encouragement on her side. As they stood side by side, she sighed. "Maybe one?"

"Sure." A quick smile spread over Bryan's face.

Back in her dorm, Nya carefully undressed. Only lifting her arms caused her pain, but as she peeled off her t-shirt, she found out that dried blood had glued the fabric of her top to her sore skin, and she winced and yelped quietly.

Topless, she lay down on her bed – on her stomach, which once again reminded her of the boy with the almost-septicaemia. _Maybe I'll die_, she thought, and realized she didn't care.

"Nya?" Bryan entered without knocking, almost stumbling into the room. She faced the door, and saw how he hesitated when he saw she wasn't wearing a shirt. Sexual division wasn't something they particularly minded in the Abbey. The youngsters – little boys and girls – slept in mixed dorms until the age of ten or eleven, and even as they grew older, they were used to nudity of the opposite sex in a non-sexual context.

The boy's hesitation was more or less suspicious, but Nya felt slightly flattered, though she couldn't say why. Her bare back – scarred and bloody as it was – wasn't anything unusual for Abbey children, yet attractive.

"You should have that seen to," he broke the awkward silence that had accompanied him.

"It's okay," she muttered and closed her eyes. The pain ebbed a little when she lay very still, and she could breathe almost normally, which was the greatest relief.

"I can get something," he offered, and before she could protest, he had disappeared again to come back with gauze and a bottle of antiseptics. Firstly, he handed her the painkiller and a glass of water, which she managed to swallow without changing her position.

"It's going to burn, right?"

"Not so much, I promise. There's no alcohol in it, see?" He let her read the label on the bottle. Carefully, he started to dabble her back with moist gauze, and though it hurt when he touched the wounds, it wasn't worse than when she had walked and undressed. While Bryan was busy tending to her bruises, she felt comfortable enough to close her eyes and relaxed a bit.

"Finished," he told her, and she heard the sound of the glass bottle being put down on her bedside table.

"Thank you, Bry. I really owe you one."

"No," he said and coughed, "No, you don't."

She opened one eye, and saw that he had indeed blushed.

"Just … Maybe you should try to keep a low profile in the future? You know …"

"I know. And I can't." Training and studying were the only two things they allowed them to do – and Nya was well aware that these weren't the only two things life consisted of. There was another impetus inside of her … In the back of her head, in between the excitement she felt during battles, and the peace that came over her when she was with another person she was close to.

Bryan knelt down beside her bed so that their eyes met on the same level. As he looked at her, he wetted his lips with the tip of his tongue, but didn't say a word.

"You should go," said Nya, "It's dinner time, isn't it? I don't want you to go hungry all night because of me."

"What about you?" asked he. "I'll get you something."

"It's okay. I'm not hungry. Especially not for the stuff they serve here, thank you so much." She rolled her eyes and grimaced, and they both had to laugh. The food wasn't tasty indeed, but that wasn't important. It filled your stomach, and that was more than most had had before they had come to the Abbey.

Bryan left after promising to bring her a snack. Nya drifted off into a dreamless sleep – dizzy from the pain killer – and woke up when Vanessa and the other girls came in.

"Bryan sends you this." Vanessa – or Nessa, as Nya preferred to call her, because then, her friend's name resembled her own – handed her a chocolate bar and another tablet.

"Thanks." Nya took the candy and put it onto her nightstand. The pill, though, she swallowed with the last sip of water and sank down into her pillow again while Nessa got ready for bed.

The other girls shot her curious glances, but Nya pretended not to notice and closed her eyes.

* * *

The wounds slowed Nya down during training, and even made it harder for her to concentrate during classes. It was annoying, as someone constantly snapped at her or reprimanded her because of it. Fortunately, Boris was nowhere in sight all week, and none of the other instructors bothered to give her more than an occasional slap as physical punishment.

"I'm in desperate need of some fun," she told Nessa over lunch one day.

"Haven't had enough already, did you?" said one of the boys who had heard her. A few laughed drily at this remark, but Nya just rolled her eyes. They were a group of simple-minded guys with a more or less sinister hint in their personalities. Soon enough, most of them would be spoiled and perverted by their upbringing, so that they fully turned into those who inflicted all the cruelty upon them. But still, they were eager to join into any mischief and prank that could bring them a little joy and amusement, and though one moment they'd laugh about Nya, the next, they were eager to listen to her when she suggested an "adventure".

Each of the nine long tables in the dining hall was chaperoned by an instructor, and the majority of the staff sat at their own table by the entrance door. Even though the last group was out of earshot, Nya didn't have to glance down the table to know that Marc – their supervisor – was watching and listening, so she decided to keep quiet.

"THERE ARE STRANGERS! STRANGERS IN THE YARD!" Someone bellowed from outside the hall – the high-pitched voice of a child. And not even the full force of adults could hold back the uproar following these news. Most of the children, including Nya and Vanessa, shot up and hurried out of the hall.

"Stay back! Hey, I warn you …" Threats of punishment were being made, but Nya ignored them and pulled Nessa with her, out of the hall.

"I know from where we can see them," she hissed to her friend and the two pre-teens hurried up a flight of stairs. From the East Tower, you had the best view over the Abbey's front yard, where they supposed the "intruders" would be greeted.

In the yard bellow them, a class of older boys was practising their launching, and a group of five strangers clothed in pale blue coats watched, accompanied by Boris.

The Abbey boys lined up, facing the strangers, and Boris walked up and down the lines of his pupils.

"What are they doing?" Nessa asked.

"I don't know. But I bet they will battle!"

"They'd better not," a low, dark voice said, and Nya's head shot around.

A tall, slender girl with midnight black hair stood in the doorframe, eyeing the two others suspiciously. Bryan stood a few inches behind her, biting his bottom lip.

"What are you two doing her?" The girl snapped, "This is none of your business."

Bite me, Nya thought, but she knew better than to talk back to Taylor. She was Boris' pet – his favourite above all the others, even the Demolition Boys. One word from that girl, and Boris would do far worse than whip Nya. So she decided to keep quiet, but stayed where she was, and Nessa followed her example.

Taylor and Bryan walked over to the window, too, and watched in silence.

Down in the yard, a boy with mousy brown hair was chosen for the battle. Nya remembered his name being Alexander. Though he was always eager to display dedication and discipline, both traits had always seemed a little superficial in him, Nya thought. He wore a constant look of discomfort on his face, and though he wasn't untalented, he often startled when the supervisors addressed him.

Now, Alexander drew his feet over the yard, his shoulders drawn back.

"That loser?" Taylor snarled. "What point does Boris want to prove by this?"

"Maybe that even our worst are better then them?" Bryan replied, a tiny laugh following his words.

Boris led the children into the training arena, and Taylor quickly turned around and hurried down the stairs. Bryan rolled his eyes and followed. Nya and Nessa exchanged a look of confusion, and in unison, decided to go to the arena as well.

At the bottom of the stairs, though, Tala was waiting with his arms crossed in front of his chest. "You're not supposed to watch," he said plainly, and for a moment, Nya thought he was talking to Nessa and her.

It was Taylor, though, who stopped dead in her track and growled quietly.

"I can't let you go down, Taylor. Boris' order. And he means it."

"I see," replied she. "Then let's go back to training. We've already wasted enough time for today." She grabbed Tala by his upper arm and dragged him away. The redhead shot Bryan a confused glance, and Bryan just shrugged.

"What was that?" asked Nya.

"Never mind," said Bryan, and raised his eyebrows.

"Who are these strangers?"

"The Bladebreakers, from Japan. They're our opponents for the World Championships. Boris wanted to … Show them around a bit." He shrugged and walked off. "I'd better go back to my training."

The girls arrived at the scene of the battle just in time to see how Alexander was dragged away by the guards. He had lost, obviously, but instead of being relieved about his victory, the bladers from the Bladebreakers and his teammates were shouting at Boris and protesting.

"It's about Alex," one of Nya's peers muttered, "They think it's unfair he's … taken away."

"Why? He lost, didn't he?" Nya wondered: Didn't they get punished for losing in Japan? She took a closer look at the unknown boys: One of them was obvious the lone wolf of the group, standing a little aside and eyeing his surrounding suspiciously with his arms crossed in front of his chest and his brow knitted. The smallest of the group – a boy with brown hair – silently watched as his three mates discussed with Boris: a tall boy with a long, black ponytail, a blonde one, and one with midnight black hair and a broad face.


	3. Chapter 3

**The Mystery of Balkove Abbey  
Chapter 3**

* * *

For as long as he could remember, Bryan had found refuge in books. The adventures of other boys his age living in other places, other times had been the beginning, but later he was eager to read anything about people of all genders, ages, ethnics who faced odd challenges, went through personal and circumstantial changes. At fourteen, though, he preferred fact to fiction, and that also added a long list of books about science, history, and philosophy to his interests.

His friends made fun of him, and especially Taylor liked to use his bookishness as a bribe if she wanted him to do something. She threatened to make Boris take away all his books, for instance, and even though he was well aware of the emptiness of her words (she'd never purposely hurt her friends), he usually obeyed at this stage. Because if Taylor was making such threads, she was desperate, felt things were out of control, and she needed his help and support.

The night after the Bladebreakers visited Balkove Abbey for the first time, however, Taylor kept to herself and let him be with his books. Instead, she monopolized Tala – as, next to her, he was the most talented Biovolt blader – and trained with him for hours past lights-out

That way, Bryan could curl up in his bed with a good book all alone in the room he shared with Tala, not having to care about disturbing his friend's sleep with his reading light. At half past eleven, though, he was disrupted by the creaking sound of the door. He expected it to be Tala, so he didn't look up, and the voice caught him off guard.

"Bryan?"

He dropped his book onto the mattress and raised his head hastily.

Nya stood next to the door, blinking down at him curiously.

His heart skipped a beating, and his mouth became dry as he felt her gaze resting upon him. _Pretty little Nya_, it was a phrase she detested, and though the others didn't use it to refer to her looks, Bryan secretly did. She _was_ pretty. At least, he thought she was. She had once told him her father came from Iran, and that was how she came to have dark eyes and hair. Her skin, though, was almost as pale as Bryan's own, and it made her dark traits stand out even more. While the other girls her age grew into shrieking, gossiping little things, she had become more silent and withdrawn during her years at the abbey, and Bryan treasured how she was more open and talkative towards him. It made him feel special.

"Are you okay?" he asked, worried the injuries from her previous punishment might have worsened.

"I'm fine," she said and sat down next to him on the mattress. He made an attempt to sit up, but she raised her hand. "It's okay. I didn't mean to bother you for too long."

"You never bother me," said he, a little offended.

She smiled slightly and nodded. "I was only wondering about what happened today."

"What do you mean?" He spoke slowly, knowing what she was getting at – and hoping she didn't.

"Why did Boris choose Alexander, for instance?"

He sighed. "Well, he had wanted to get rid off him for quite some time now, I think. Alexander wasn't that outstanding, you know. He has fallen behind even, as far as I know. And Boris thought that was a clever way to dispose of him and to lull our opponents into a false sense of security at the same time."

She nodded. "I thought as much."

This time, it was Bryan's turn to smile. Clever girl, he thought.

"But," she went on, "Why did all this upset Taylor so much? And why wasn't she allowed to watch the battle?"

"Nya …" He stopped himself and shook his head. If he told her to keep out of it, it would only intensify her curiosity, he knew her that well. "Taylor is an enigma. As is Boris."

"You should know, though. Aren't you the closest thing she has to a friend?"

"I _am _her friend," replied he tensely.

Nya made a face. "Seriously? All she ever does is bossing others around, and if she doesn't get her will, she tells Boris. Doesn't she do that with everyone?"

"She has never told on _anyone._" That wasn't exactly true. Years ago, Taylor had done it – unaware of the true consequences of her actions. And she had regretted it ever since. Bryan had seen how much pain it had caused her, knowing Boris had punished someone on her behalf, and that was also how he knew she wouldn't do it again.

"You know something you don't want to tell me, right?"

Bryan rolled his eyes. How was it that Nya seemed to be able to read him like a book?

"It's okay," she then said, "I was just curious. I'm sorry if I was being too … intrusive." She got up, and that moment, the door opened once more and Tala walked in, muttering some incoherent words under his breath. When he spotted Nya, his eyebrows lowered.

"Good night," she said and brushed slowly past the redhead.

When the boys were alone, Tala snorted with laughter and shook his head.

"What?" snapped Bryan.

Pulling his sweater over his head, Tala walked over to his own bed. "Did I just interrupt something?"

"Hell, _no!_"

"I wonder what Hanna would say if she knew …"

"What about Hanna?"

"She's been all over you for the past three months. Didn't you notice?"

"I did. And it annoyed me." Even though Hanna was two years Bryan's senior, and had recently been announced a junior instructor, she had taken a "special liking" in him. "Still, I don't see why this has anything to do with Nya."

"The moment I say it out aloud, you will be strangling me, I bet." He undressed and sneaked under his bedcovers with a loud yawn.

"She's just a kid, Tala!"

"Whatever."

It was part of the older bladders duties to instruct the youngest. They took turns in supervising their basic training, and with time, every blader developed his own teaching style. Ian, for instance, told them to repeat the same exercise over and over again while he took a nap, Spencer often instilled chaos – the kids broke things, hurt each other or themselves accidently – and Tala loved to let them compete in everything.

Bryan, though, loved to make up games to motivate them. He'd tell them a story – made them imagine they were circling through an underwater world with their blade, telling them the obstacles of their free running were exotic animals they had to avoid or tackle. He never directly praised good work – he wasn't supposed to, anyway – but he could award all of them together at the end of their training with a fun game or a fairy tale.

The children were crazy for him, though he harshly forbade them to tell anyone he was their favourite. He feared Boris would make him stop teaching then.

This day, though, it took him all his patience to deal with the little ones. Since the Bladebreakers' short visit to the abbey, a child-like excitement and gleeful anticipation for the world championships had evaporated. The day-to-day training, which could be gruesome, tiring and usually even painful, had dulled them into a state of acceptance and strain. Now, though, they _longed_ to battle. They fought each other in grown-up seriousness, talking about participating in international competitions, being known and famous all over the world, and even becoming world champion. Bryan smiled about their renewed enthusiasm. At least a few, as far as he could remember, had been passionate about beyblading in the beginning.

Little Adrian, for instance, a boy small and scrawny for his age, had had trembling hands the first time an instructor had given him a blade, because he couldn't wait to go and try it out. A usually shy and fearful one when it came to trying out new things, he had been _hungry_ for this sport. Bryan remembered it well.

Balkove Abbey and its way had taken its toll on the children, of course – just like it had on Bryan. Now, though, the kids were more like kids again. They laughed (though only shortly, quietly), giggled and blabbered, dreamed and had their spirits up high.

Bryan was happy for them. He wished that he, too, could go back to a state of at least a little innocence. Still, it made it harder for him to make them listen and discipline them. They wanted neither games nor stories now, they wanted battles and competition. And afterwards, they wanted to bath in their triumphs. The winners posed, jumped up and down and high-fived. If they won, they felt on top of the world.

If they didn't …

A small girl with mousy brown hair let her head hang low as she drew her feet across the floor, approaching Bryan with a knitted brow.

"What it is, Keira?" Bryan asked, ruffling through her hair as he sometimes did.

"I lost."

"Cheer up. It's just training. Not the real thing." You're years away from that, he thought.

Keira shrugged.

"What is it?"

"Mikail say I'll never make it anyways."

"Don't listen to your brother. I saw Spencer kick his blade out of the arena within two minutes only yesterday."

"Really?" She made a doubtful grimace, but Bryan nodded.

"Sure. Did I ever lie to you."

"No."

"See? Then go on and try your best. Come on, Georgji over there is waiting for a new opponent, see?" He gave her a gentle push in between her shoulder blades, and she ran over to the other little boy, eager to do better this time.

Keira belonged to a set of four siblings who had been given into Boris' care together. Bryan had a soft spot for the little girl. Two years ago, when he had first met her, she had been only four years old. A tender age, even for Abbey children. Her three older brothers didn't care much about her. In the beginning, she would be confused and lost and used to toddle after her oldest brother, Mikail, who was Bryan's age. Mikail, though – like the other two boys, Fritz and Jeremiah – would chase her off with a slap or a kick. Quickly, though, she formed a bond with Adrian (the only child her age at the time), and now the two were an inseparable duo of culprits who found mischief as soon as you let them out of sight.

Mikail was a good blader – unlike his two younger brothers, whom Bryan also thought to be of low intelligence. The second oldest, Fritz, also had a sinister, sadistic side, which was why Keira avoided him at all costs. The oldest brother, though, had made his way to the surrogate team for the Demolition Boys, and recently, Taylor had developed a fondness for him.

"I really can't see how you can stand these little brats", Taylor said as she met him afterwards.

Bryan shrugged. "It's okay. I like how they are still enthusiastic about everything. They have … a certain degree of innocence despite all the harshness this place brings upon them."

"That's stupid!" Taylor snapped and stroke through her hair, sighing. "I mean … Have we ever been like that? No, certainly not! They're silly and naïve and childish!"

"They're children," replied Bryan so quietly that Taylor could pretend not to have heard him.

Tala and Ian, who walked a few inches ahead of them, kept silent.

"I wasn't, at least! I mean … For as long as I can remember, I was focused. On beyblading. And why not? If you want to achieve anything, you have to be. You have to block everything from your mind. You wanna win, you wanna be the best, there's no other way. And why would you do anything if not to be the best in it?" She was rambling to herself now, Bryan realized. She was rationalising her own life, her own childhood .

But the Taylor Bryan remembered was different. The first time he had met her, she had been a little girl who had talked about ballet and story books as well. Who had giggled when Ian slipped on frozen ground. Afterwards, the tiny boy had used swear words Taylor had never heard before – and it had fascinated her.

The child Taylor described was only the girl Boris had always wanted her to be – and to achieve that, he had tried to edit out everything else in her. He didn't succeed, though, Bryan thought as he watched her.

The four teenagers made their way across the abbey's backyard, heading for the Chapel. Taylor wasn't religious, and the boys weren't very much either, but it was the only place they could hope to be undisturbed by any supervisors and trainers and even most of their peers. For years, it had been their secret hide-away, like a clubhouse.

Taylor opened the wooden door, and before Bryan could take a look inside, he saw her lips curled up into a small smile. When he thought about it years later, he remembered that moment as the scientifically exact moment when it all started: when all the mysteries of Balkove Abbey started coming back to the surface to overwhelm and crush all those involved.

Taylor's smile … Which wasn't really a smile, but a mere reflection of the stoic patience they had all developed to endure the hardships of that place.

"Hello Kai," Taylor whispered.


End file.
